Nothing Personal
by PsandQs
Summary: Takes place after episode 6.9. With Zaf missing, Ros and Ruth in exile and Adam threatening to fall apart, Harry struggles to hold his team together in the wake of the Davey King debacle. Then he is confronted with an impossible choice, the consequences of which could ruin his career and any chance he might have of reuniting with his beloved analyst. Shortish one.
1. Chapter 1

_Paris, France_

She woke slowly, her head slightly fuzzy, and tried to remember how much they'd had to drink before he had brought her up to his room. A slow smile spread across her face as she remembered the events of the evening – how she had let him think that he was the one seducing her, whilst it was in fact the other way around. He had caught her eye the moment she had entered the hotel bar, talking on his mobile whilst his eyes moved from person to person. Or more accurately, from female to female. He was on the hunt, and she knew that she would have him that night. There were more handsome men than him in the room, but none had his air of self-possessedness, of natural authority which she found so irresistible. Yes, she had known straight away that she would have him. Men found her beautiful, and she was yet to meet the man who could say no to her. And here they were, in his room, in his bed, to once again prove her point. But why couldn't she remember anything?

She tried to rub her face with her hands, but only her left arm would obey. The other was trapped by something, prevented from moving. She tried again, and there was the clanking sound of metal-on-metal, and then she knew. Her eyes scanned the dark room and she found him by the window. Still fully dressed, he watched the street with focussed intensity. His face was half in shadow; the other half lighted by the street lamps outside. It was raining, she noticed, as the drops sliding down the window drew tear tracks across his cheek.  
He spoke without taking his eyes off the street. "You're awake. If you scream, I will put you under again."  
The voice, still smooth, still sexy, had acquired a harder edge that had not been there earlier.  
"You drugged me?" she asked, only now noticing that her tongue felt woolly and swollen.  
He didn't deign to answer, and for the first time fear began to curl around her heart.  
"Who are you?"  
Once again there was no response; not a flicker on the impassive face.  
She tested the handcuff quietly, but there was no give. It held her wrist snugly; there was no way she would get her hand through it. She lay back against the pillow and tried to relax. If she were to get out of this, she would have to use brain rather than brawn. For a few minutes the only sound was the falling rain. He stayed by the window, immovable, not bothered by the silence, and that scared her more than anything else. He was a professional. He had to be.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked into the silence, for the first time allowing her Russian accent to come through strongly.  
His head turned fractionally towards her. "Of course, Natalya," he murmured, an almost mocking tone creeping into his voice as he used her real name, not the one she had given him last night.  
A shiver ran down her spine. "Then you also know that people will come looking for me."  
He considered the words, before turning his face back to the street. "Not soon enough."  
It was the casual nature of the statement, more than the words itself, that scared her. She cast about desperately for a way out, for an angle that would shake this imperturbable man. "You don't intend to kill me, otherwise I would be dead already," she reasoned, watching him carefully for a reaction. "So you're planning to hand me over to someone."  
He didn't twitch, but she persisted. She had no other choice. "You're doing someone else's dirty work for them." She paused, before adding dismissively, "Funny, last night I didn't get the impression that you took orders from anyone."  
His mouth twitched in amusement, but he didn't say anything, and she realised she would have to change tack. Playing on his pride was not going to work, apparently.

She considered everything she had learnt about him the previous night; his quiet charm, the sardonic wit, the intelligence. He had seemed to be the epitome of upper-class English gentry, and his accent hadn't slipped once.  
"You're British Intelligence," she hazarded, and even though she got no reaction whatsoever, she knew instinctively that she was right. It was one of her many talents, to spot the Intelligence Officer in a crowd. It was something she could work with.  
"We are no longer enemies, _daragoj,_" she purred. "Surely we can come to an arrangement. Whatever they're paying you, I can double."  
This time she did get a reaction. "I know. Because you sell intelligence to the highest bidder." There was a hint of disgust in his voice. "You've built yourself quite a tidy nest-egg in that off-shore bank account in the Caymans."  
A chill ran through her, but she didn't let it show. "You're offended," she surmised, amused. "I would have thought you would enjoy such duplicity, as long as it wasn't done by your own side. I can tell you many, many things about the FSB."  
"I wouldn't be so offended if it were only your own side you sell out," he countered. "The Americans and the French would dearly like to get their hands on you as well. You have caused the deaths of a number of their agents."

She fell silent, perturbed by the fact that he seemed to know absolutely everything about her. Still, it could be worse. The Yanks or the French she could handle. But something nagged at the back of her mind. "Why would the Americans or the French use you to get to me?" she asked, more to herself.  
He was quiet for a long time, before he eventually murmured, "They are not the only ones you swindled."  
Her fear turned to absolute terror, and she had to force her next words out through a tight throat. "What do you mean?"  
He briefly turned his head towards her and contemplated her with dark, unreadable eyes. "You should have known better than to double-cross a Russian mafia boss."

And there it was; the thing she feared most in this world. She shuddered. But things didn't add up – why would a British Intelligence officer, who seemed so repulsed by her actions, be doing the dirty work of the Russian Mafia?  
"You're not going to hand me over to them, are you?" she asked hopefully, but he turned his head away and didn't answer.  
"You can't!" she beseeched. "Do you know what Asimov does to his victims?! He poisons them, and watches them die in absolute agony. Please, you can't be willing to allow that."  
He remained quiet, but the shoulders, so resolutely erect until now, sagged a little. When at last he responded, it was not what she wanted to hear. "It's nothing personal," he said, and she imagined she heard regret in his voice.  
"Oh God, no," she began, but his attention was no longer on her. "I beg you-"  
"Quiet," he ordered, and she reflexively obeyed.  
His head was cocked to the side, and after a few seconds she heard it too – the sound of a car driving slowly down the street.

A mobile rang, and only now she noticed that he'd been holding it in his hand the whole time. He lifted it slowly to his ear, his eyes never leaving the street below.  
"Yes," he said, and she thought his voice sounded strained.  
"_Dobryj vyechyer_, Harry," a familiar voice boomed, loud enough for her to hear, and she began to shiver. She hated and feared that voice. "I am in front of the hotel."  
"I see you," the man called Harry responded. "I remind you that you are surrounded by French Intelligence, Asimov. If you try to cross me, you will not survive this night."  
Asimov's laugh echoed through the room. "Harry, Harry. Always so distrustful, eh? I knew if anyone could find the elusive Natalya, it would be you. There is no reason for me to cross you – all I want is the woman. So show her to me."  
Time seemed to stand still. He didn't move at first, and she wondered whether he had changed his mind, but then he turned and strode towards her. Immediately she realised that she might have a chance – he wasn't young anymore and her reflexes were still pretty fast. She tensed herself, ready to spring at him the moment he unlocked the handcuff. But he was no fool. As soon as he reached her he grabbed her free arm and pinned it to the mattress with his knee, before retrieving something from his pocket. She waited for the click of the key in the lock, for the handcuff to spring free, but nothing happened. Instead she felt a prick in the fold of her arm, and she jerked her head towards it to see him empty a syringe into her vein. By the time she began to struggle, it was all over. To her horror she noticed that there were a number of other puncture marks next to the latest one.  
"What have you done?!" she cried, panic raising her voice to a shriek.  
The handcuff sprung loose and he swiftly twisted both hands behind her back and cuffed her wrists together.  
"I see no need why you should suffer. It'll alleviate the pain and hasten your death," he said, and she stared at him, speechless.  
"You're insane. If you want to spare me the pain, don't hand me over to that monster."  
He looked at her, and she saw beads of sweat pearl on his upper lip. Close up she could read him better; could see the desperation behind his eyes. Without a word he hauled her to the window and positioned her in front of it.

She stood there numbly as whatever he had injected her with coursed happily through her veins and rendered her pliable to his wishes. She watched through a haze as he lifted the mobile back to his ear.  
"First floor, fifth window from the left."  
When she looked down into the street again, she saw a big hulk of a man stand next to a black SUV. He lifted night vision goggles to his face and pointed them in her direction, and she smiled woozily. It had stopped raining. The Hulk nodded to someone in the car and Asimov's voice came through again.  
"Excellent, Harry. I am pleased-"  
The voice from the man beside her cut him off brusquely. "Your turn," he demanded, and she could feel the tension radiate from him.  
Asimov tutted. "So impatient…"  
The Hulk opened one of the back doors and dragged a small figure out. It stumbled and the big man hauled it upright roughly, and next to her the man called Harry inhaled sharply. The person's hands were bound with cable ties and there was a flour sack over the head.  
"Remove the sack," she heard Asimov order, and watched in fascination as the Hulk pulled it off to reveal a dark-haired woman.  
Harry swallowed, and just for a second his face turned impossibly tender, and she understood why he was doing this.  
She couldn't contain her curiosity. "Who is she?"  
The man called Harry took a deep breath, then murmured almost wonderingly, "Her name is Ruth."

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

_Two weeks previously  
Harry's office_

"You should get home to Wesley," Harry said, not with much conviction.  
Adam sat on the sofa across from him, elbows propped on his knees, turning the tumbler of amber liquid round and round in his hand. "I should," he confirmed, not with much conviction either.  
Harry studied his younger colleague with some sympathy. It had been a horrendous few days - being barred from the Grid and stalked by Davey King. He could still feel the bruise on his chest where King's bullet had slammed into the vest, and he used it as a reminder – they were lucky to be alive. And all because his finest officer and a man he now regarded as a friend, had threatened to divulge their culpability in the Tehran bombing. Harry was still puzzled by that; it was so very uncharacteristic of Adam. He suspected that it had more to do with Ros' enforced exile than anything else, but he still struggled to understand it. It would not have brought Ros back, so what was the point?

Adam lifted his eyes to his boss, and knew what was coming even before the words left Harry's mouth.  
"Don't ever betray us like that again, Adam. I will not tolerate it for a second time."  
Adam had no doubt as to the sincerity of the threat. He sighed, "It wasn't meant as a betrayal of you."  
"But that's exactly what it was. A betrayal of this team. We were in the thick of things during that bombing, and we would have taken the brunt of the fall-out had you given the story to the papers."  
"Come on," Adam bristled. "We were following the orders of the politicians. It was _them_ I wanted to expose."  
Harry smiled sardonically and drained his glass. "You have a lot to learn about this business if you think _they_ would have been left to hold the can."  
Adam stared at him, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You would have taken the fall for them? Jesus, Harry. Why?"  
Harry filled his glass again as he pondered the question. Eventually he said, "I could have refused the order. I did not. A man must face the consequences of his actions." He paused, then added softly, "I've given many questionable orders without political backing. It's what we do."  
The blond spook shook his head vehemently. "Not _that_. We're not supposed to do _that_."  
Harry's gaze snapped to the steely blue glare of his Section Chief. "Cut the sanctimonious bullshit. We both know that the deaths of a few civilians are not really what your petulant actions were about."  
Adam's own anger flared. "If you think this is all about Ros, you're wrong. But so what if it were? She was trying to find Zaf. She did not deserve to be thrown to the wolves like that."  
Harry's eyes hardened. "Thrown to the wolves?! Her intentions might have started out as good, but she betrayed us too, and if you think any different then you are even more deluded than I thought. Love may be blind, but it is not something we can afford in our business," he added scathingly.

The two men glared at each other, a silent battle of two strong wills, until Adam eventually dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand. "You wouldn't understand," he murmured, knowing deep down that it was a reaction to Harry cutting too close to the bone for comfort. He steeled himself for the backlash from the other man, but when it didn't come, he lifted his head curiously.  
Harry was looking out onto the Grid sadly, and Adam knew immediately what desk he was looking at, and hated himself for his thoughtless comment.  
"I understand better than you think," Harry said softly, with infinite weariness. "But we have to move on from things." When he looked at Adam, there was no reproach, just empathy, and Adam sighed deeply.  
"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. For everything."  
Harry watched him intently. "I need to know I can trust my best officer implicitly. We are spread too thin for me to have to worry about your loyalty."  
"You can," Adam said immediately, and Harry gave him a half-smile.  
"Good. Now get home to your son."

As Adam stood, Harry's mobile rang. The older man frowned as an unknown number showed on the display.  
"Yes?" he said carefully, and was stunned to hear a voice with a thick Russian accent on the other end.  
"Harry Pearce? My name is Vladimir Asimov. You have heard of me, no?"  
Harry snapped his fingers at Adam, who paused at the door questioningly. Beckoning him back, Harry put the phone on speaker before he answered. "Vladimir Asimov, Russian Mafia boss. Yes, it rings a bell."  
A loud warning bell, he thought, glancing at Adam.  
Asimov's laugh boomed through the room. "Ah, good, good. It is nice to know that one is famous."  
Harry and Adam shared a look. "I wouldn't go that far. _In_famous, perhaps," Harry corrected acidly, and Asimov laughed again.  
"They told me you were a blunt man," he said jovially. "That is good. I am a blunt man too. We'll work together well."  
Adam frowned, but Harry's confused expression told him that his boss had no idea what the Russian was talking about.  
"Then let me oblige – what do you want?" Harry demanded.  
"Not over the phone. The wall have ears, as they say. Be at Battersea Park, the Peace Pagoda, in an hour. But a word of advice; you will not want others to hear what I have to say, so come alone. If you don't come, there will be an unfortunate death – someone dear to you, by all accounts."  
"I'm not going to meet a Russian blackard in the middle of the night-" Harry began to protest, but the Russian cut him off.  
"One hour, or there will be blood on your hands."  
The call disconnected abruptly, leaving the two spooks to look at each other in consternation.

"You can't go," Adam said immediately. "It's probably a ruse to get you alone. A senior intelligence officer will fetch quite a nice price," he said meaningfully.  
But there was something in the Russian's voice that Harry hadn't liked. A note of conviction, and it worried him. "I don't think it's a ruse," he said slowly, alarming pictures of his daughter flashing through his mind. At least Ruth was away from it all, safe.  
Adam watched the older man's face set determinedly, and knew it would be pointless to argue. "I'll call in the team," he stated and reached for his phone.  
Harry's voice stopped him. "No."  
Adam's head snapped up. "There's no way I'm letting you go alone, Harry," he said equally determinedly, and a wave of gratitude washed over the other man. There, at long last, was his loyal officer and friend_._  
"You and I will go. No-one else," he conceded, and after a moment's hesitation Adam nodded.  
They headed out, shoulder to shoulder, to face the latest threat.

- 0 –

_One hour later_

They approached the Peace Pagoda carefully. To their left the Thames rushed swiftly and silently towards the ocean, and Adam wondered morosely whether their bodies would be dumped into it before the night was out. So far he hadn't spotted any Russian goons, and he didn't know what to make of that. He glanced at Harry's face, intermittently lit by the street lamps as they strode along, but it was unreadable. He had barely said a word since they left Thames House, and Adam hoped to God it wasn't Harry's daughter that was in trouble. He had only seen his boss lose the plot on two occasions; when his daughter had been threatened, and when Ruth had been in trouble. Ruth, at least, was out of the picture, which was a relief. That left the daughter, and Adam fervently hoped that Harry would be spared that.  
"Do you see anything?" Harry asked quietly.  
"Only the two men under the pagoda," Adam responded equally quietly.  
"Me too," Harry murmured. "That means he's confident that he has me cornered."  
Adam said nothing; he was thinking the same, and it worried him greatly.

The two men turned towards them and watched their approach with interest. One was a huge man, the other of medium height but with a slight paunch. His hair seemed an unnaturally dark colour, and it was still thick and plentiful. Harry recognised him immediately. His face was known to most of the intelligence and organised crime organisations around the world, although he was clever enough never to get caught with his own hand in the cookie jar. He waited until they came to a halt in front of him before he spoke.  
"You brought a friend," Asimov said as he weighed Adam with his eyes.  
"As did you," Harry retorted.  
"Ah yes, I had to, just in case you had the urge to shoot me and throw me in the river," the Russian said with a chuckle. "I've heard that you don't hesitate not to play by the rules."  
"You seem to have heard an awful lot about me. Care to enlighten me as to your source?" Harry queried mildly, almost disinterestedly. He didn't want the man to know how perturbed he was.  
"Let's just say I have friends in high places," Asimov answered with a broad smile. He sobered and looked at Harry searchingly. "Are you sure you want your friend to hear what I have to say? It might put you in an awkward position later."  
"He stays," Harry said curtly. "Now, spit it out, Asimov. What do you want?"  
The Russian extracted a photograph from the pocket of his overcoat and handed it to Harry. "Do you recognise this woman?"

Harry tilted it towards the light as Adam peered over his shoulder. He recognised the face immediately, but did not let it show. "Should I?" he asked dismissively as he handed the photo back.  
Asimov, taken aback, accepted the photo as he stared at Harry, clearly wondering whether the spook was having him on. Then he laughed. "You're good. I think we will have a fruitful partnership."  
He beamed at Harry, who frowned in irritation. "Stop the games, Asimov. What is this about?"  
The Russian looked at the photo in his hands; traced the face with a forefinger. "Despite your convincing performance, I'm sure you know that this is Natalya Medvedev. Former KGB, now FSB, but mostly working for herself. She is an information whore, and I mistakenly put my trust in her." Asimov's eyes had turned cold. "She stole from me, quite a large amount of money. I want her to pay for that."  
"That's a touching story, but why would I be interested in the petty squabbles of a pair of hoodlums?" Harry asked acerbically.  
Asimov guffawed at the insult. "Because I can't seem to find little Natalya. When I asked my friends in the FSB to assist, they couldn't find her either. So I've had to make alternative arrangements, and your reputation precedes you."  
Harry remained impassive. So the FSB had given the mafia boss the information about him. That was a worrying piece of information – what else did they know about his team, about him? "I'm flattered," he responded, "but I'm afraid I'll have to decline."  
The Russian smiled, and it put Adam in mind of a crocodile. "Of course I expected you to say that, so I've prepared a little incentive."  
He reached once again into his pocket and drew out an envelope, which he held out to Harry.  
Harry didn't move. "I'm not interested in your ill-gotten gains, Asimov," he said evenly, and Asimov's smile widened.  
"Oh, it's not money, Harry." He took a step forward and pressed the envelope against Harry's chest, and the spook instinctively grasped it. As the two men stood, eyeball to eyeball, the Russian almost whispered, "Imagine my surprise when I saw a supposedly dead spook walking the streets of Cyprus. You have two weeks, or I kill her."  
He nodded pleasantly at Adam, and the two Russians walked off and into the night.

Harry watched them go, still clutching the envelope to his chest, unwilling to move. To move would mean to open the envelope and have his worst fears confirmed.  
"Harry?" Adam prodded, and the other man reluctantly stirred.  
Without a word he tore open the envelope and extracted another photo from it. He took one look, before he closed his eyes and handed it to Adam.  
"Oh, no," Adam said quietly, as he looked at the face of Ruth Evershed, holding that day's newspaper in front of her.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

_Adam's apartment_

Harry paced the living room as he waited for Adam to return from putting his son to bed. He was glad to have found Fiona's mother baby-sitting when they arrived, rather than the young nanny Ruth had selected. He could count the times his beloved analyst had got it wrong on one hand, but that was definitely one of them. Or perhaps she had intended for Adam to end up in bed with the young woman; who knew what went on in that brilliant mind of hers?  
Ruth.  
Wherever he turned, wherever he went, there were reminders of her. He couldn't forget her, couldn't _move on_, as he had so pithily advised Adam. He loved her, and in this later phase of his life he was not a man who gave his affections cheaply. Perhaps that was why he had struggled to put her out of his mind, to let go of the hope that he would see her again one day. And now he might get his wish, in the most atrocious circumstances imaginable. The thought of Ruth in the hands of that appalling man squeezed the breath out of him, and he could feel panic hovering at the edges of his consciousness. That would not do; it would not do at all. If he were to save Ruth, he would need to be clear-headed, clinical. And above all, pitiless. Because he had already decided, the moment the decision was put before him, that he had no choice at all. He would sell his soul to save Ruth.

Adam came back into the room, and stood for a moment to watch Harry pace. His heart went out to the older man. Since Fiona's death Harry had become a friend, had gone out of his way to make time for Adam and his son. There had been times, when he would suddenly be reminded of the absence of Fiona and the despair would blanket him like a never-ending darkness, when a quiet supportive word or gesture from Harry had pulled him through, and he was unendingly indebted to his boss -, no, friend for it. Watching that friend pace now, his jaw set determinedly, he had an inkling what Harry's decision would be. For although the older man kept his private life very much private, Adam knew that he was quietly devastated by Ruth's departure. Harry understood the despair of his younger officer too well for it to be otherwise. And because of that, his own decision was already made as well – he would do whatever it took to help Harry, without regard for the consequences to himself and his career.

"Wes asleep?"  
Harry's voice dragged him back, and Adam nodded.  
"Just disappointed that Uncle Harry didn't read him a story this time," he said with a smile, to show it wasn't meant as a rebuke. He watched Harry for a bit longer before asking, "What do you want to do?"  
Harry stared at the wall for a long beat before he turned and looked Adam squarely in the eye, and allowed every emotion he felt to show through. It was perhaps the most open, most honest moment between the two men in all their years of knowing each other, and Adam was somewhat shaken by the rawness of it.  
Harry said, "I'm going to take two weeks' leave, I'm going to find Natalya Medvedev, and I'm going to exchange her life for Ruth's."  
There was not a shadow of doubt in the statement.  
Adam took a deep breath, and let it out again slowly. "Then you'll need help," he said firmly, and wasn't in the least surprised when Harry immediately shook his head. Before he could vocalise his protest, however, there was a quiet knock on the door.  
Harry was momentarily thrown off-stride, before glaring at Adam accusingly. "What have you done?"  
Adam grinned, unperturbed by Harry's tone of voice. "I thought we'd need a Russian expert," he explained before moving to the front door.  
Harry did not miss the 'we' thrown so naturally into that sentence, and his heart warmed. And he already suspected who Adam had called even before Connie walked into the room.

- 0 –

"Well. It certainly is a royal mess you've got yourself into," Connie pronounced as she took a sip of her G&T. Adam had briefly filled her in on the situation, beginning with Ruth's faked death and the reasons for it, and she had listened in silence. Now she observed her long-time colleague calculatingly, and as usual didn't hesitate to say exactly what she thought. "So there has finally been a woman that got under that thick skin of yours, Harry. I never thought I'd see the day. I have to say that I'm surprised, though. She's not quite your usual type, is she? A mousy analyst."  
Harry gave her an annoyed look, but he didn't rise to her baiting. He knew her well enough to know it was a technique to get people to reveal more of themselves than they would like to. "I wasn't aware that I had a 'type'," he retorted, before getting back to the matter at hand. "Once again, I would like to stress that I don't want to drag either of you into this. If it became known, your careers will be over."  
Both of his companions blithely ignored him.  
"What do you know about Asimov, Connie?" Adam asked.  
"He's a real piece of work," she responded, watching Harry out of the corner of her eye. She did not miss the wince that crossed his face, presumably at the thought of this woman Ruth in the Russian's clutches. "His preferred method of getting rid of people is to poison them. With atropine." Now she looked squarely at Harry. "It is a slow, agonising death – starting with blurred vision, dizziness, hallucinations, and ending in painful convulsions and asphyxiation."  
"Bloody hell, Connie," Adam muttered, but Connie and Harry held each other's eyes in a silent battle, like the two old warriors they were.  
"Just making sure Harry fully understands the consequences," Connie said without breaking eye contact. She could see beads of sweat pearl on his upper lip, but his determination did not waver. In the end she blinked first, somewhat surprised. He really must love this woman.

"Duly noted," Harry said eventually, and the two spooks seemed to come to a wordless truce.  
"Is there anything we can use against him?" Adam asked, looking for ways around the situation.  
Connie shook her head. "He's a crafty bugger. Runs a tight ship. And he didn't give you enough time for us to set up an operation against him."  
Harry sank onto the sofa. "He has contacts in the FSB," he said quietly.  
"Of course he does," Connie retorted, "every self-respecting _zakone_ does. And the FSB is hardly a paragon for loyalty."  
Harry's mouth quirked. "I see you still have your customary high opinion of the Russians."  
An unreadable expression flitted across her face, but she didn't bother to respond.  
"You think the FSB is behind the whole thing?" Adam queried, but Harry shook his head tiredly. "No. I think it's a marriage of convenience. Medvedev also betrayed them rather spectacularly. I'm sure they were thrilled to assist in this endeavour in every way they could to ensure she is silenced forever."  
"And now they're getting you to do their dirty work," Connie surmised. "And to top it all off, if you succeed, it'll probably end your career – a nice little bonus for them, to get rid of two thorns in the side at once."

There was a silence as all of them let that truth sink in. Harry pursed his lips but didn't say anything, and Connie leaned forward to press home her point.  
"Are you sure that this Ruth is worth all of this? And that you will be able to look yourself in the eye each morning if you condemn the Russian woman to such a painful end?"  
Harry studied his hands, then lifted his gaze to her. "Yes, she is worth it, and no, I don't know. But whichever way I go, someone dies. I have to choose whether that will be a woman who always had the best intentions towards people, or someone who willingly betrayed her own country for financial gain. To me that's no choice at all."  
Connie tilted her head and observed him with a tiny smile. "No, that's what you tell yourself to justify it. The truth is much more carnal – Ruth is worthy because you love her. Even if she'd been a traitor herself, you would have saved her. Because she is important to you, and Natalya Medvedev is not."  
Harry didn't say anything, but he glared at her, nettled by the statement.  
"Are you going to help us or not?" Adam demanded, quickly losing patience with the moralisation.  
Connie smiled serenely. "Of course I am," she said matter-of-factly, like there was never any doubt, and perhaps there wasn't. Adam watched her speculatively; she fascinated him. She was hard to categorise, hard to pin down. The one thing he did not doubt, however, was that she was one of the toughest women he had ever met. It wasn't the obvious physical toughness of female field officers like Ros, but a more subtle mental ruthlessness that could manifest in unexpected ways. She must have been quite something during the Cold War.

"So. What are our options?" Connie asked, looking at Harry. This was his show.  
The answer came so quickly that it was obvious that this was all he'd been thinking about since the meeting with Asimov. "We have two. One: we find out where Asimov is holding Ruth and snatch her back. Two: we do as he asks – we find Medvedev and exchange her for Ruth."  
They all took a moment to digest this, before Connie said, "So we really have only one option. We won't find the location in the time available – not with the FSB assisting Asimov." There was none of her previous haughtiness, only quiet empathy for the situation Harry found himself in.  
"I agree," Harry responded, with a weary smile of acknowledgement to Connie.  
"Right," Adam stated briskly. "I'll put out feelers immediately, see if I can locate the Russian woman. Any ideas about where I should start, Connie?"  
"Not really. I'll get onto my old contacts, I'm sure someone in the Intelligence Outcast community will be able to point us in the right direction."  
"There is another option," Harry said slowly. When the other two looked at him questioningly, he elaborated, "We lure Natalya Medvedev to us."

- 0 -

_Early hours, next morning  
Harry's house_

He lay on his back in the darkness, staring into nothingness. Sleep had proven elusive as his thoughts swirled with worry over Ruth. Connie seemed confident that Asimov would not harm his valuable bargaining chip, but men like that were dangerously unpredictable. He felt a tinge of remorse that he was about to deliver someone else into the man's hands, but swiftly smothered the emotion. He simply could not afford to indulge it. The time for self-recrimination would come later, afterwards. Once Ruth was safe.

He'd always planned to bring her back once the dust had settled. But Cotterdam was barely a year in the past, and even in the world of political expediency that was the British government memories were not that short. There were still quite a few people around that sympathised with Oliver Mace. So he'd watched and waited, never dreaming that chance would bring her across the path of a Russian mafia boss. Now his hand was forced, and later today he would go and see the Home Secretary to ask for her pardon. After recent events he had some leverage over Nicholas Blake – the man had ordered his assassination after all. He would use that against the politician without any qualms. But, as always, it wasn't quite that simple. He might well succeed in trading Medvedev's life for Ruth's, but would Ruth want to come back to England and to the Grid? To him? He wasn't sure any more.

As soon as she had sailed out of his life, he had made arrangements for someone to keep an eye on her. He chose a man that he once trusted with his life, and for whom he still had a deeply buried soft spot, despite the fact that he'd been forced to decommission him. Tom Quinn was the perfect choice, as he had great respect for Ruth. So even of he hadn't wanted to do it for his former boss, he would want to do it for his former friend. The latest report he'd received indicated that she was settling down in Cyprus; that she'd found a job and seemed happy in her new life. And that the main reason for that was a tall Greek doctor with a young son. Harry swallowed. He might get her back only to lose her again, and the thought hurt more than he would like to admit. But if that was what she wanted, he would respect it.

Determinedly guiding his thoughts away from these concerns, he went over their plan once again. Connie would put about rumours of a secret, high-level Intelligence gathering to be held in Paris in two weeks' time. They knew that Medvedev's modus operandi was to gravitate towards such meetings, and to try and seduce one of the attendees to get information. Harry would play the bait, and hopefully she would come to him. If the plan succeeded, they would make the swap the same night, with the assistance of French Intelligence. And then, of course, Asimov would kill Medvedev with atropine. The price for Ruth's life. Harry rubbed a hand across his face, then swung his legs out of bed with a muttered curse. The bathroom light was harsh and he blinked a few times before he could look himself in the eye in the mirror. He stared at the brown eyes reflecting back at him sombrely for a long time before he eventually walked back into the bedroom and picked up his mobile, and called the poison expert of MI5.  
"Simon. I need you tell me everything you know about atropine."

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

_Paris, France  
Present day_

Harry guided the woman down the stairs, keeping a firm grip on her handcuffed wrists. She went meekly enough, and the remorse surged back strong and potent. Or was there another word more appropriate for what he felt? Could one feel remorse for something you haven't done yet? His vocabulary had temporarily deserted him in this moment of high stress. All he could think about was the pale oval of Ruth's face staring up at him, of the fear in her eyes. As they reached the lobby, the black SUV was visible out in the street, and Natalya began to strain against him. He used his greater bulk to keep her moving, hardening his heart against her fearful whimpers. A blast of frigid air greeted them as they stepped through the doors, and above them, beyond the halos of the street lights, dark clouds hung low, still heavy with rain. The woman moaned, an incantation of mumbled Russian that Harry's unpractised ear could not unpick. He kept his gaze fixed on Ruth and all emotion firmly suppressed. She was dwarfed by the hulk of a man that stood next to her, gripping her arm, and his heart lurched. So vulnerable.

He quickened his step, dragging the Russian woman along. Ruth's eyes found his and held on desperately, and he didn't even try to untangle all that he saw flashing across her face. He could not afford to be distracted now. He gave her what he hoped was a calm and reassuring smile, but his attention was focussed on every little movement around them. He noticed the two men in a car a few metres down the street, he was aware of the silhouette of a man in a window on the third floor of the building opposite. But most of all he noticed the passenger door of the SUV open and Asimov step out, swaddled in a dark coat and scarf. He deliberately ignored him.  
"Ruth," he breathed, but it came out more like a strangled croak than a word.  
Something seemed to release inside her, and she sagged slightly against her captor. One single tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. "Oh, Harry…"  
In the far reaches of his mind he was aware that Natalya had stopped struggling, that she was watching the exchange with interest. In that moment he didn't care anymore. That voice that he feared he would never hear say his name again, was all that mattered.  
"Are you all right?" he asked gently as he ran his eye over her form, looking for any sign that she had been hurt.  
"Yes, I'm all right, now," she assured him, and he could not detect any hesitation in her answer. A great weight lifted from him.  
Asimov had rounded the car in the meantime, and observed the reunion with a benevolent smile. "Of course she's all right, Harry," he affirmed with mock affront. "I am a man of my word." His gaze shifted to Natalya and darkened dangerously. "So are you, I see."  
Natalya began to shiver uncontrollably, her fear a palpable presence in the midst of the group of people, and Harry gritted his teeth.  
"You gave me no choice, Asimov," he snapped, the strain clear on his face as he almost shoved the woman towards the Hulk. "Now release Ruth and let us be done with it."

Ruth frowned, the only one unaware of the dynamics of the transaction taking place, but when the man let go of her arm, she stumbled over to Harry without hesitation. He pulled her towards him the moment she was in range, and slung a protective arm around her shoulders. She huddled against him, at once overcome by the familiarity of his smell, the soft wool of his coat, his reassuring solidity. She focussed on that, luxuriated in it, and for a few seconds the terror of the last few weeks ebbed away. Harry had saved her.  
Asimov was speaking as she tuned back into reality. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you," he said to Harry. "We should do it again some time."  
Ruth felt Harry tense, and his response was laced with such suppressed fury that it scared her. "If you ever come near me or my people again, it will be the last thing you do."  
The Russian laughed, but for the first time Ruth detected apprehension in the cold eyes. He was, apparently, under no illusion that Harry meant every word. If the time away had dampened her memories of who the man that held her protectively against him now really were, this was an immediate, stark reminder. Saviour. Protector. Harbinger of death. Light and darkness. Contrasts. Not for the first time she wondered which of these were the stronger within him.

Harry was slowly backing them away from the Russians, pulling Ruth along with him. The tension within him translated to her through the layers of clothes between them, and she had a sudden, almost irrepressible urge to tear off the offending garments and press her skin to his, to calm the both of them through that long desired intimacy. She looked up at his face, to find his eyes riveted on the woman he had delivered to Asimov. After all this time it took her a moment to recognise the emotions swirling in his eyes; remorse, self-disgust, but most of all determination. Fear gripped her; for the woman, for him, for them.  
"Harry. What have you done?" she asked, unable to stop herself.  
The arm around her tightened and pulled her backwards with even more resolution.  
"Come away, Ruth. Come away," he ordered, not answering her question. The evasion ratcheted up her unease thousandfold, just as the night was shattered by a human voice.  
"_Ublyudok_!"

The harsh, almost animalistic exclamation froze everyone in their tracks momentarily, and all eyes turned to Natalya in shock.  
She glared at Harry, and left no doubt that her vitriol was aimed at him. "You are no better than this animal," she continued, lifting her chin towards Asimov, before she turned her gaze to Ruth. "Your lover is the cruellest of men," she spat, before Asimov silenced her with a casual backhanded slap across the face.  
The crack echoed around the empty street, and Ruth jerked involuntarily. Every muscle in Harry's body quivered against her with the effort to restrain himself, but he kept backing them away. He didn't utter another word, and Ruth was too bewildered to say anything herself. Once they were safely inside the lobby, he stopped, and they watched in tense silence as the Hulk forced a struggling Natalya into the back of the SUV, and it made a U-turn and sped off down the street. Only once the red taillights had disappeared around a corner, did Ruth find her voice again, as the fear and horror coursed hotly through her veins. She pushed away from Harry and demanded, more strongly, "Why did that woman call you a bastard? What have you _done_?"  
He half-reached a hand towards her, but the revulsion on her face stopped him. As she watched him intently, demanding an answer, she saw the defeat settle on him before he said, in a quiet monotone, "What I had to."  
They stared at each other for long seconds, before he turned away and pulled out his mobile.  
"Adam," she heard him say.

- 0 –

Natalya felt numb as she huddled in the corner of the seat, pressed as close to the door as she could get. She wasn't sure whether it was due to the overwhelming circumstances, or whatever that bastard had injected her with, but she felt unnaturally calm. Or perhaps she was simply resigned to the imminent reality of her own death. Asimov was seated next to her, and he watched her with cold eyes.  
"Well, little Natalya," he began conversationally, "we meet again." As he spoke, he retrieved a black velvet cigar case from his pocket, and Natalya shuddered. She knew what was in there.  
"Let me congratulate you on being very hard to find," he continued as he opened the case and removed a syringe, filled with a colourless liquid. "But as you well know, I always get what I want-"  
His monologue was interrupted by the Hulk from the front seat. "We're being followed," he announced, and Asimov smiled.  
"That will be the English spy's people," he informed Natalya, and continued smugly. "I had foreseen this, of course. I knew his conscience would not allow him to condemn you to death without an attempt to save you, even if he knows, deep down, that it will fail. But at least he will be able to tell others, and himself, that he tried." He shook his head sadly. "I know the human condition, you see, little Natalya, and people's ability for self-deception never ceases to amaze me."  
She listened wordlessly; she would not beg for her life. She understood the human condition too, and she knew begging would not sway him. It would only enhance the pleasure he would get from killing her.  
He continued, "But as I feel magnanimous tonight, I will give Harry Pearce what he wants. I will return you to him, only-" he moved swiftly, unexpectedly, and plunged the syringe into her thigh. She cried out at the stinging pain, unable to react before he had emptied the contents into her flesh.  
"-you won't be alive," he breathed as he sat back and watched her with bright, expectant eyes. Waiting for the suffering to begin.

It started almost immediately. A loss of feeling in her fingers and toes, spreading upwards and inwards rapidly, and she knew the man called Harry had spoken the truth. She smiled, thankful for this smallest of mercies – there would be no suffering.  
"He has outwitted you," she said, aware that her words were beginning to slur.  
Asimov stared at her in confusion, probably wondering why she had not started to convulse yet.  
"He had injected me with something to hasten my death and alleviate the pain – he did not want me to suffer," she continued. Darkness began to creep around the edges of her vision, and she could feel her heart slowing down. "Perhaps you do not know the human condition quite as well as you think," she mumbled, as she closed her eyes and slid into unconsciousness. The last thing she heard on this earth was Asimov's voice swearing viciously in anger.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

Ruth found herself in a safe house with Harry. She wasn't sure how she had got there; whilst she was still trying to figure out what Harry had done, he had shepherded her out the back entrance and into a car, and they had driven a few blocks to this non-descript abode. She had no idea where they were, other that they were in Paris. She had caught a glimpse of the illuminated Eiffel Tower in the distance whilst they were in the car. There had not been an opportunity to talk to Harry again – he had been on his mobile constantly. First he had talked to Adam, asking whether the signal was active. Next he had spoken to someone called Guillaume, and from the conversation she had surmised that Guillaume was a member of French Intelligence. There had also been a call to someone called Connie, at whom he had fired questions about the whereabouts of the resident FSB representatives. Right now he was back in conversation with Adam. He glanced at his watch and grumbled, "It's taking too long. If he doesn't dump the body, it will all have been for naught."

She stared at him, this man who was at once so familiar and dear to her, and yet with facets to him, dark corners and secrets, that she did not know at all. An image of George and Nico flashed in front of her eyes, laughing and horsing around in the pool, in bright sunshine. George, who was all light – compassionate doctor, loving father, attentive lover. The man who had been patient enough to coax the shy English woman out of her shell and into his bed. Who had dropped hints that he wanted her to come and live with him and Nico. Just as suddenly the image evaporated, replaced by Harry pacing the room, brow furrowed and mobile pressed to his ear. It was an image so familiar, so ingrained in her DNA that her heart lurched. This was the man she had admired enough to sacrifice everything for. So he could keep fighting, could continue to be who she knew he was – more light than dark. Who had done God knows what to save her. Panic ripped through her, and suddenly she was more lost and confused than she had ever been.

"Harry?" she said, very softly, but his eyes jumped to her immediately.  
"I'll call you back," he said into the mobile before sliding it shut. He took a step towards her, then stopped uncertainly, mindful of the way she had pushed him away earlier.  
"I didn't… Earlier, I forgot to… I wanted to say-" She couldn't get a complete sentence out as she tried to force big gulps of air down her lungs. She was suffocating.  
He must have seen the panic on her face, because he quickly closed the distance between them and took her by the shoulders, forcing them back gently. "Easy, Ruth. Breathe out first before you try to breathe in again."  
She obeyed, staring into the gentlest of brown eyes as she did so, and finally managed to get some air into her lungs. She took a few deep breaths, until the panic receded again.  
"Do you need a doctor?" he asked, concerned. "I have one on standby-"  
But she shook her head decisively. "No. I just need-" She cut herself off, and took another deep breath. Her gaze sought his determinedly. "I haven't said thank you, yet. For saving me." She smiled tremulously at the relief that swept across his features.  
He let out a breath, before closing the remaining distance between them. He pulled her against him carefully, but when she didn't resist, he folded her into his arms and pressed her close, and she slipped her own around his back and buried her face in his chest. The panic receded completely as she breathed him in.  
"I'll always save you, Ruth," he murmured against her hair, and she squeezed him harder in acknowledgement.  
Just as she was about to tell him that it was so very good to see him again, his mobile vibrated in his pocket and she felt him tense. She released her hold reluctantly, and he took a step back with an apologetic look.  
"Adam," he said, and she was close enough to hear the words of her former colleague clearly.  
"They've dumped the body, Harry. I have her in the ambulance as we speak."  
She looked at Harry questioningly, filled with dread at the thought that another life had been sacrificed to save her own.

- 0 –

_Half an hour earlier_

Adam sat waiting behind the wheel of an ambulance, one block over from the hotel. Behind him he could hear the doctor move around, presumably checking his equipment for the umpteenth time. The tracking device they had embedded under Natalya's skin whilst she was unconscious had started moving a few minutes ago, and he knew that Harry was taking her down to do the swap. The old familiar nervous gnawing settled in the pit of his stomach, as it did before every big operation. He was not entirely convinced that the plan would work, but he did not have the heart to tell Harry that. He suspected that any form of dissent would have snapped the tight control the older man had clamped on his emotions ever since that first glimpse of Ruth in the photo, and Harry needed that control to stay clear-headed. He thought back to the night, almost two weeks ago, when Harry had summoned him to a secret meeting at the Doghouse, and enlisted his help for this alternative plan. He had been dubious, but he had agreed to help, understanding Harry's need to at least make the effort to save the Russian. Otherwise he would be reminded that he had condemned her to death every time he looked at Ruth, and that was not the type of foundation to build a relationship on. So here he was, unbeknownst to anyone but Harry and the doctor behind him, ready to tail the Russians as soon as they left with Natalya. Now, everything hinged on Asimov dumping the body in time for them to administer the antidote. For the first time since he had picked up the man, Adam spoke to the doctor.  
"You think it will work, Simon?"  
The MI5 poison expert looked up and shrugged. "It's highly experimental. In theory it should work, and it did on rats when tested, but one just never knows whether it will have exactly the same effect when administered on a much bigger specimen."  
"Like a human," Adam said, slightly disturbed by the doctor's phraseology.  
"Exactly. Now, if Harry had administered the mixture of physostigmine and pilocarpine in the correct doses and intervals during the night, and they dump her soon enough after injecting the atropine, her systems should have slowed down enough for us to wash them clean before the poison can reach the vital organs."  
"What if he injects it into her heart?"  
The doctor paused. "Then it will be hopeless. But it's unlikely, if he wishes to see her suffer first. If we're lucky, he'll inject it into one of the extremities, like a leg or an arm, and that would give us the necessary time."  
Adam's focus returned to the tracker and he didn't respond. Variables. Luck. There were too many of these for comfort. But then the dot started to move and he switched on the engine. "Here we go," he said over his shoulder, and the doctor took his seat.

- 0 –

Adam watched silently as the doctor hooked the woman up to the various machines. He was working frantically but methodically, and as of yet there was no heartbeat on the monitor. He could hear Harry breathe on the other end of the mobile, and just for a second he contemplated the surreal nature of the whole situation. He wondered how the reunion with Ruth was going – he had picked up on the unspoken reservations Harry seemed to harbour. Seeing that his boss' feelings for Ruth were evidently as strong as ever, that must mean that he had doubts about whether she would want to return to England and the Service. To him. Adam's heart went out to him.  
There was a sudden beep in the silence, and his gaze jumped to the heart monitor. The flat line showed irregular mountain peaks and he let out a breath. He looked to the doctor, who turned around and nodded briefly.  
Adam smiled and spoke into the mobile. "We got her back. She's alive." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "It worked. It bloody worked."

Harry momentarily dropped his hand and closed his eyes. He wore a look of such intense relief that Ruth immediately understood what had happened, even though she did not have all the facts. There would be time for that later. Now, though, she suspected her expression matched Harry's – her life had not been bought at an unacceptable cost, as she had feared. His eyes were on her as he lifted the mobile back to his ear and murmured, "Thank you, Adam."  
They looked at each other for a long time, both thinking a million thoughts. Ruth had one overwhelming realisation, something she had momentarily forgot in the heat of the crisis: Harry was a good man, doing his best in impossible circumstances, and she had once been proud to be associated with him. The lure of a normal life with George and Nico, that had been so irresistible, seemed a little less so now. Did she want to settle for the safe option, which George undoubtably was, or was she brave enough to go back to her previous life, where the stakes were much higher, but the rewards so much more satisfying? It would not be an easy decision. And when Harry spoke, the uncertainty in his eyes told her that he was well aware of the conundrum she was wrestling with.  
"I squared everything with the Home Secretary. You can have your old life back, including your job on the Grid. If you want it."  
When she didn't immediately respond, he hastened to add, "You don't have to decide right away-"  
She cut him short with a small, sad smile. "I don't need time. I know what I want."

- 0 –

_Three months later  
London, England_

Harry lay quietly, watching the day gradually brighten outside his bedroom window. It was a Sunday and he need not get up early today, but his body was programmed to wake before sunrise from years of habit. His mind wandered over the events of the last few months, since that fateful call from the Russian mafia boss. Natalya Medvedev had recovered completely, and was proving to be a great source of information about the Russians. MI5 owned her now, but Harry had kept knowledge of this fact to only Adam and himself. He couldn't quite explain why, but he had a growing feeling of unease about security in the Service – the Russians seemed to know too much about internal developments, including his Section, for comfort. Medvedev's information had already led to the arrest of a senior Russian Economic Attache for industrial espionage, and Harry was hopeful that he finally had a big enough prize to barter for the man that still languished in a Russian prison after eight long years, Lucas North. His sense of right and wrong would not let it rest; ever since Lucas' capture he had been looking for an avenue to get him back. That it had taken so long filled him with dread, and he wondered whether it was too late, whether the damage done to his officer was too great to reverse. Only time would tell.

And then, of course, there was Ruth. He rolled onto his side and folded himself around her. She sighed softly in contentment and her hand found his thigh, and he bit her shoulder blade playfully before kissing the spot. It had taken them almost three months to find their way back to each other, but now they were finally here. He still found it hard to believe, some days, but he was grateful that she had come back to England, and he made sure that he showed her that through his actions. She had chosen him over her idyllic life in Cyprus, and he knew it was a decision she could not have made lightly. So he would endeavour to be worthy of such a sacrifice. She turned in his arms and pressed herself along the length of his body, and the pleasure coursed through him. God, how he loved her. Before the words could escape, though, she kissed him, and he submitted to her attentions happily. It was certainly a more self-assured Ruth that had returned to him, and he was delighted by it. As he rolled her under him, he told her as much, and she smiled and traced his mouth lovingly. She knew that he attributed the change to her experiences in Cyprus, but the truth was more complex. It also had something to do with how safe she felt with him, because she was certain of his adoration. He was in love with her, and she knew it, and that made all the difference. As he nestled between her thighs, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered his name in his ear, and he thought it had never sounded better, uttered in her husky, aroused voice. He raised his head and stared into her eyes, and she gave a little nod of encouragement, and he slid smoothly into her and lost himself in her, this wonderful woman who was his constant, his salvation, his beloved.

His soulmate.

_Fin_


End file.
